So, I'm not completely confident about this piece of writing, but am a little unsure of how to improve it so I was hoping for some opinions. Very much appreciated guys!!

My skin is thin and my thoughts are even thinner. They are like blank paper that once had writing, a life printed in ink, but those pages have fallen into deep, deep salty water, dampening and eventually breaking in the middle. My arms and legs feel are like ragged doll arms and legs unable to move unless the wind sways them to direction. I also know that I won’t be here for much longer.
A lot of the others wouldn’t make it this far, and not just because of the sickness. It’s an everyday struggle for all of us. It’s not the needles or pain that hurts us, and it’s not the constant destruction of our lives that worries us. You see, there is always a bright side and a dark side. We’re stranded on the dark side. We have no sunny days to remind us that we still have some light left inside of us, and even though the windows are open, our skin is too fragile to feel the warmth glowing against it. We’re too blinded to see all the beautiful things outside even when they’re so close. Almost close enough to touch with our sensitive fingers. But we can’t feel anything either, our senses are decaying slowly. This doesn’t mean that we have to live like we’re miserable people locked in boring paper box rooms, and we don’t have to believe anything that others say. We can start with the blank canvas we were given and paint our own dreams in our own lives. When our eyes shut and don’t open again, everyone will know that we’ve gone to heaven to live a real life. When we die, we will still be smiling deep down beneath the cold teary pathways that are closed forever.
Sometimes I’m afraid that something will go wrong though. Maybe a letter to a family will be missed or someone will die without their last words. Many of us had to choke without our goodbyes. It’s a sad thing, but what you really want to say before you leave is never what comes out your mouth. It’s hard to imagine the voices saying anything except for the cliché hopes held on worn out strings like “It’ll be okay”. I wish that it was that easy to save a life. But wishes don’t just come true like that. They always drown in your tears before you actually cry them, and when you do, it’s usually just a river of dried out memories.
Maybe there are things that are unsettled, twisting and turning in their own spaces waiting for a hand to pull them up from their caves. It’s becoming more and more common these days. When a person wants to speak out loud, new thoughts and considerations grip onto their throat and keep clutching on, until there’s no way they would ever be able to say another word to the world ever again. When they finally let go there is only a small gap to breathe through, and it has bruises the whole way through, small blood vessels are ripped. It hurts to say things that shouldn’t be said. So we keep silent for just a little while longer.
There are things that get missed, but we always drop small hints along the way. Sometimes we are so transparent that it’s easy to find what needs to be known. Most of our emotions and words get lost between different bones and gaps, but they’re clearly seen. My wings are bruised and weak. The edges are torn and shattered inside, but I can still fly to heaven.

So, I'm not completely confident about this piece of writing, but am a little unsure of how to improve it so I was hoping for some opinions. Very much appreciated guys!!

My skin is thin and my thoughts are even thinner. They are like blank paper that once had writing, a life printed in ink, but those pages have fallen into deep, deep salty water, dampening and eventually breaking in the middle. My arms and legs feel are like ragged doll arms and legs unable to move unless the wind sways them to direction. I also know that I won’t be here for much longer. What did you know before this to be able to put "also" there? A lot of the others wouldn’t make it this far, and not just because of the sickness. It’s an everyday struggle for all of us. It’s not the needles or pain that hurts us, and it’s not the constant destruction of our lives that worries us. You see, there is always a bright side and a dark side. We’re stranded on the dark side. We have no sunny days to remind us that we still have some light left inside of us, and even though the windows are open, our skin is too fragile to feel the warmth glowing against it. We’re too blinded to see all the beautiful things outside even when they’re so close. A, almost close enough to touch with our sensitive fingers. But we can’t feel anything either, our senses are decaying slowly. This doesn’t mean that we have to live like we’re miserable people locked in boring paper box rooms, and we don’t have to believe anything that others say. We can start with the blank canvas we were given and paint our own dreams in our own lives. When our eyes shut and don’t open again, everyone will knowHow will they know?that we’ve gone to heaven to live a real life. When we die, we will still be smiling deep down beneath the cold teary pathways that are closed forever.Love this line
Sometimes I’m afraid that something will go wrong, though. Maybe a letter to a family will be missed or someone will die without their last words. Many of us had to choke without our goodbyes. It’s a sad thing, but what you really want to say before you leave is never what comes out your mouth. It’s hard to imagine the voices saying anything except for the cliché hopes held on worn out strings like “i[/COLOR]t’ll be okay”. I wish that it was that easy to save a life. B, b[/COLOR]ut wishes don’t just come true like that. They always drown in your tears before you actually cry them, and when you do, it’s usually just a river of dried out"River of dried out memories" sounds cool! But doesn't work in my opinnion. You can't have a FLOWING DRY RIVER, you know? I might be looking too deep into it, I do like the line, thoughmemories.
Maybe there are things that are unsettled, twisting and turning in their own spaces waiting for a hand to pull them up from their caves. It’s becoming more and more common these days. When a person wants to speak out loud, new thoughts and considerations grip onto their throat and keep clutching on, until there’s no way they would ever be able to say another word to the world ever again. When they finally let go there is only a small gap to breathe through, and it has bruises the whole way through, small blood vessels are ripped. It hurts to say things that shouldn’t be said. S[COLOR="rgb(65, 105, 225)"], s[/COLOR]o we keep silent for just a little while longer.
There are things that get missed, but we always drop small hints along the way. Sometimes we are so transparent that it’s easy to find what needs to be known. Most of our emotions and words get lost between different bones and gaps, but they’re clearly seen. My wings are bruised and weak. T[COLOR="rgb(65, 105, 225)"]; t[/COLOR]he edges are torn and shattered inside, but I can still fly to heaven.

[COLOR="rgb(65, 105, 225)"]Not bad! I like it a lot. The only thing I think you really need to work on is having more compound and complex sentences. You have very many simple sentences, and it quickly gets annoying. There are a few spots where I crossed off and either put a comma or a semicolon to help guide you as you edit.

I hope you can just understand what I was trying to say, I'm not sure why the codes got all confused. It's most spots where I crossed off a period and capital letter and inserted a comma and lowercase letter

My skin is thin and my thoughts are even thinner. They are like blank paper that once had writing,[maybe put a semicolon here instead for emphasis/effect] a life printed in ink, but those pages have fallen into deep, deep salty water, dampening and eventually breaking in the middle[try "breaking in two"]. My arms and legs feel are like ragged doll arms and legs[how about:"the limbs of a ragged doll,] unable to move unless the wind sways them to direction[maybe just delete this phrase and leave it off at "them"]. I also know that I won’t[maybe I'm getting the wrong feeling here but i think the contraction here detracts from the overall mystical/disembodied feeling: I would just leave it as "will not"] be here for much longer.

A lot of the others wouldn't make it this far, and not just because of the sickness. It’s an everyday struggle for all of us. It’s not the needles or pain that hurts us, and it’s not the constant destruction of our lives that worries us. You see, there is always a bright side and a dark side. We’re stranded on the dark side. We have no sunny days to remind us that we still have some light left inside of us, and even though the windows are open, our skin is too fragile to feel the warmth glowing against it. We’re too blinded to see all the beautiful things outside even when they’re so close. Almost close enough to touch with our sensitive fingers. But we can’t feel anything either, our senses are decaying slowly. This doesn't mean that we have to live like we’re miserable people locked in boring paper box rooms, and we don’t have to believe anything that others say. We can start with the blank canvas we were given and paint our own dreams in our own lives. When our eyes shut and don’t open again, everyone will know that we’ve gone to heaven to live a real life. When we die, we will still be smiling deep down beneath the cold teary pathways that are closed forever.
[ beautiful. this paragraph is just too beautiful to alter. but if it was to stay consistent with my suggestions in the previous paragraph you would need to hold off on the contractions ]

Sometimes I’m afraid that something will go wrong though. Maybe a letter to a family will be missed or someone will die without their last words. Many of us had to choke without our goodbyes. It’s a sad thing, but what you really want to say before you leave is never what comes out your mouth. It’s hard to imagine the voices saying anything except for the cliché hopes held on worn out strings [just a suggestion, but I would put: "the worn out strings of clichéd hope..."] like “It’ll be okay”. I wish that it was that easy to save a life. But wishes don’t just come true like that. They always drown in your tears before you actually cry them, and when you do, it’s usually just a river of dried out memories. [oooh drowning in tears, river of dried out memories. a paragraph rife with sequential imagery. I like it]

Maybe there are things that are unsettled, twisting and turning in their own spaces waiting for a hand to pull them up from their caves. It’s becoming more and more common these days. When a person wants to speak out loud, new thoughts and considerations grip onto their throat and keep clutching on[how about: "take ahold of their throat and cling on," unless, of course, you want is to be aggressive in which case it's fine as is], until there’s no way they would ever be able to say another word to the world ever again. When they finally let go there is only a small gap to breathe through, and it has bruises the whole way through, small blood vessels are ripped. It hurts to say things that shouldn’t be said. So we keep silent for just a little while longer. [whoa! got a little graphic there. I would suggest toning it down a little i.e. leave out the ripped blood vessels but leave the rest]

There are things that get missed, but we always drop small hints along the way. Sometimes we are so transparent that it’s easy to find what needs to be known. Most of our emotions and words get lost between different bones and [insert "different"] gaps, but they’re clearly seen. My wings are bruised and weak. The edges are torn and shattered inside, but I can still fly to heaven. [have this parting shot be its own conclusion, that is, isolate it on its own, make it its own paragraph as the denouement. ]

Overall, I really like it. I would say though, that the contractions detract from the imagery and should be left out at the beginning and conclusion of the piece. It also feels as if you begin with vivid imagery and then let off in the next few paragraphs only to pick it up again at the very end, which is very good as it provides the reader with a concrete purpose behind all the imagery.

Also I haven't been on in a long time but I should be on more now.

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